Chapter 4: Round Three: The Recovery
"Promises, promises," you echo, and reach over to the nightstand for the water glass you keep there. "Drink. You screamed yourself hoarse."
She takes it, drinks half, and hands it back with her eyes already fixed lower, on your cock lying spent and glistening against your thigh. Her tongue touches her lower lip.
"So how does this work," she says, settling onto her side facing you, one finger drawing a slow line through the drying stripes on her own belly, "do I just start, or do I ask permission like a good girl?"
"You ask."
"Please, sir." Her hand follows her words down your stomach, fingertips tracing the trail of hair below your navel, stopping just short. "May I worship you back to life? I want to feel you get hard in my mouth. I want to watch it happen."
"May I what?"
"May I worship you back to life, sir." A beat. Her brown eyes lift to yours, wet lashes, wicked mouth. "Please. I've been wearing your cum for five whole minutes and it's not enough. I want the rest."
"Then earn it. Show me how hungry you still are."
She moves like water, sliding down the mattress until her face is level with your hips. Her hair spills across your thigh, chestnut curls tickling your skin, and she presses a kiss to the soft inside of your leg, then another, working upward with a patience that surprises you, given how wrecked she was ten minutes ago. Her free hand finds your balls and cups them, gentle, warm, rolling them in her palm.
"You're still heavy," she murmurs against your skin. "Even after marking me. I felt every pulse, you know. Right here." She presses her palm flat against her own slick stomach.
Her mouth closes over the head of you, soft and slow, and the sensation after everything is almost too much, a low hum of overstimulation that sharpens as her tongue starts to move. She works you with nothing but warmth and patience, no suction yet, just her lips sliding over the sensitive crown, her tongue lapping at the slit, gathering the taste of herself off you.
"You can taste me on you," you say. Your voice comes out lower than you planned.
"Mmhm." She pulls off with a wet pop and grins up your body at you. "I've been dying to do this since the couch. When you caught my hand on your zipper? I thought about this exact thing for two hours. Your cock filling my mouth while you try to pretend you're not losing your mind."
She takes you back in, deeper this time, and you feel the first real stir, blood moving, weight shifting, the beginning of thickness. She feels it too. Her whole body goes still for a second, and then she moans around you, a muffled, greedy sound, and takes you deeper.
"There he is," she whispers, pulling off to look. You're half hard already, lengthening against your thigh under her attention. She wraps her small hand around the base and squeezes, watching you swell in her grip. "God, I love this part. I love that I do this. Look what I get to do to my husband."
"Keep talking like that and this round ends early."
"That's the plan, sir." She strokes you, slow, twisting her wrist at the top the way she learned drives you stupid. Her voice drops to a murmur, almost a secret, while her hand works. "Here's what I'm going to earn tonight. I'm going to suck you until you come down my throat, every last drop, and I'm going to swallow it all. And then you're going to touch me one more time. Just once. Get me right back to that edge where you kept me all night."
"Is that so."
"And then you're going to put me on my back." Her thumb circles the head, spreading the wetness there, and your hips twitch under her, betraying you. She sees it and smiles like she won something. "Like a wife. Missionary. Your chest on mine, your ring hand laced in my hand, and you're going to take me slow and deep and we're going to come together. Both of us. At the same time. I've been thinking about it since you pulled out of me."
"Slow and deep," you repeat. "You want slow after I promised you rougher than round two?"
"I want to be under you." Her voice cracks a little, honest now. "I want your weight. I want to look at your face when it happens. The rough part was perfect, sir, but this last one, I want it, please."
"Get me hard first, then we'll talk about what you get."
She takes the answer and goes back to work with fresh focus. Her mouth sinks down your length until you hit the back of her throat, and she swallows around you, and the hum of it goes straight up your spine. You're fully hard now, aching, and she can't fit all of you so she uses her hand on what her lips can't reach, both of them moving together in a slick, steady rhythm. Her other hand slips between her own thighs. You catch her wrist.
"Hands where I can see them. You don't touch yourself."
"But I'm wet again."
"I know you're wet. I can smell you from here. That's the point." You pin her hand against the mattress beside your hip. "You come when I make you come. Not before. Not with your own fingers."
"That's so cruel," she says, and her mouth is already sliding back down you.
She takes you deeper than before, breathing through her nose, throat fluttering around the head, and you feel your own control start to thin in a way it didn't all night, because she's right, she learned exactly how to do this. Her tongue flattens on the upstroke. Her cheeks hollow. Her free hand, the one you pinned, curls into a fist and stays obediently still, and something about her obeying while her throat milks you nearly ends you right there.
"Marta." Your hand finds her hair. "I'm close."
She doesn't pull off. She moans around you, needy, and doubles down, sucking harder, and her eyes come up to lock on yours, wet and dark and asking permission with nothing but a look.
"You want it down your throat?"
She nods without letting you slip free, and the movement alone nearly finishes you.
"Then take it. All of it. Don't waste a drop."
Her hands come up to grip your thighs and she pushes herself down the last inch, nose pressed to your stomach, and you come with a groan that tears out of your chest. Your hips lift off the mattress. Pulse after pulse floods her throat and she swallows around you in steady, hungry pulls, milking every last one, only easing back when your hand in her hair goes slack. She surfaces gasping, lips shining, and opens her mouth to show you it's empty.
"All gone," she says, hoarse and triumphant, and wipes her mouth with the back of her wrist. "Told you I'd swallow it all."
"You're insatiable."
"I'm YOURS. Insatiable is a side effect." She crawls back up your body and settles her weight on your chest, and her mouth finds your ear. "Now. You promised to get me to the edge one more time. And then I get you on top of me."
"Is that right."
"That's right, sir." She takes your wedding hand and presses it flat against her hip, over the soft curve she spent a week hating, and holds it there. "I'm ready to be taken like your wife. But first I have to be desperate enough to cry for it. So get to work."
You flip her onto her back.
Her back hits the sheets and your fingers find her slick heat, sliding through the mess of her, through the cum drying on her belly, down to where she's soaked all over again. She's puffy and swollen from everything you've done to her, and when two fingers sink in she sobs, hips jerking off the mattress.
"Oh God. Sir. Careful, I'm so sensitive, I'll..."
"You'll what?"
"I'll go too fast." Her thighs are already quivering around your wrist. "One touch, I swear, I'm right at the edge already."
"Then hold it there. You've had all night to learn how."
You curl your fingers slow, dragging across the front of her walls, and she claws at the sheets, moaning through her teeth, fighting her own body because you told her to.
A third finger joins the first two, and you push deep, all three sinking to the knuckle in one slow, ruthless slide.
She cries out, back bowing, and her soaked walls clamp around you.
"Oh, God, that's so much, sir, I can't, I'm right there, please let me..."
"Not yet." You pump your fingers, hard and deep, the wet slap of it filling the room. Your thumb finds her clit and grinds against it.
"Please," she sobs, thighs shaking, hips grinding down onto your hand. "Please, I'm going to break, I need you inside me when it happens."
You feel the edge in her, that trembling point of no return, and you pull your fingers out and hold them glistening above her belly.
"Now," you say, moving over her, "I take my wife."
Your hands land on her knees and push them apart, wide, wider than she'd have put them herself, until her thighs strain against her own tendons and the whole glistening center of her is open to the moonlight. She gasps at the stretch. You settle into the space you made, kneeling between her legs, and the head of your cock drags through her soaked slit without entering, a long deliberate taunt that makes her hips jump off the mattress.
"Yes," she breathes. "That. Please."
"You told me what you wanted. Say it again while I'm looking at you."
"Missionary." Her voice is wrecked, hoarse from screaming, and she lifts her head to watch you slide against her. "You on top of me. Your weight. Slow and deep until we both break."
"And the rough part?"
"Yours to decide, sir. I just want to be under my husband when it happens."
You take yourself in hand and press against her entrance. Hold there. Her pussy is swollen and dripping from three orgasms and five denials, and you feel the heat of her surround the tip, one inch of you sunk in, and she whimpers like it's too much and not enough at the same time.
"Look at me."
Her eyes are already on yours. Dark, wet-lashed, pupils blown wide in the pale light. You sink in another inch, slow, watching her mouth fall open, watching her chest hitch under the drying stripes of your cum.
"You feel that? That stretch?"
"I feel everything." Her fingers twist into the sheets at her sides. "I've been empty for ten minutes and it felt like a year."
You push the rest of the way in with one slow, unbroken stroke, bottoming out against her cervix, and her whole body shudders. Her walls grip you in a long rolling pulse, still trained from everything you did to her, and for a second you just stay there, buried, your hips flush against hers, the soft crush of her thighs against your sides.
"Oh my God." Her head tips back into the pillow. Her throat is bare and flushed and you lean down and put your mouth on it. "You're so deep, sir. You're so deep I can feel you in my stomach."
You start to move. Not slow. Not the tender pace she asked for. You draw out to the head and drive back in hard, and the impact jolts her whole body up the mattress, and she cries out, and you do it again before the sound finishes.
"You said missionary." Your hips slap against hers, the sound wet and loud in the quiet room. "You didn't say gentle."
"I didn't, I didn't, keep going."
You grip her hip with one hand, the soft curve she spent a week hating, and use it as leverage, hauling her down onto you to meet every thrust. Her ass cheeks ripple against your thighs. The headboard taps the wall in a steady rhythm, then doesn't stay a tap, picking up pace until it's a knock she'll apologize to the neighbors for tomorrow.
"Touch me," she begs, and her hand comes up off the sheets reaching for her own clit.
You catch it midair and pin it above her head, your fingers closing around her wrist, then the other one, and you hold both her hands down with one of yours across both wrists, a single band of grip over the wedding rings on her finger.
"Your hands stay where I put them. Your clit is mine."
"Yes. Yes, sir."
You release her wrists and bring your ring hand down between your bodies, and you find her clit with two fingers, circling in time with your strokes, and her back arches up off the bed until only her shoulders and her ass touch the mattress. She's making a sound now, continuous, a low keening note that breaks apart every time you bury yourself in her.
"Sir, I'm close already. I can't, it's too much, everything tonight, I'm going to..."
"Not yet."
"Please." Her thighs clamp around your hips, trying to control the pace, trying to grind herself over the edge, and you grab one behind the knee and push it up and back, folding her open, deeper than you've been all night. She screams. Actually screams, the sound raw and torn, and her walls clench around you so hard you nearly lose it.
"That's it. Take me. Take your husband."
"I'm taking you, I'm taking all of you, please let me come, I've been good, I swallowed everything, I held the edge, please..."
You look down at her. Cum streaked across her soft belly, shining on her nipples. Hair fanned out dark against the pillow. Face flushed, tears running sideways into her hairline, mouth open and shameless. The most beautiful thing you have ever seen, and she is asking permission to shatter under you.
"Come with me." You drop your chest to hers, skin to skin, the mess between you smearing warm and slick, and you lace your ring hand into hers and pin it to the pillow beside her head. "Right now. Both of us. Together."
You drive deep and grind, and your fingers work her clit fast and hard, and her whole body goes rigid under you, every muscle locking, her hand crushing yours, her nails cutting crescents into the back of your hand.
"Sir, I'm, oh God, I'm coming, I'm coming with you, don't stop, don't you dare stop..."
Her pussy clamps down and pulses, hard rhythmic waves that grip you and drag at you, and you feel your own orgasm tear up from the base of your spine and you don't fight it. You bury yourself to the hilt and come inside her, thick pulses flooding her, and she feels it, feels the heat of you filling her up, and it sets off a second convulsion on top of the first. She wails. The sound goes hoarse halfway through and she still doesn't stop, screaming your name into the side of your neck, her teeth closing on your shoulder, biting down as her body shakes and shakes.
You keep moving through it. Slow, deep, grinding strokes, dragging out both of your climaxes, fucking your cum into her while her walls milk every last drop. The room smells like sex and her skin and the salt of sweat, and the only sounds are the wet slap of your hips and her broken moaning and your own breath tearing out of your chest.
Her orgasm crests and breaks and crests again, smaller waves this time, and finally she goes limp under you, trembling, her hand still crushing yours. You slow. You stop. You stay buried in her, softening slowly, your weight sinking down onto her body, and she takes it, all of it, her legs still hooked around your thighs.
Neither of you speaks for a long moment. Her heart is hammering against your chest. You can feel it through her ribs, matching yours.
"Oh my God," she finally manages, and her voice is a ruin, barely a rasp. "That was. We did it. At the same time."
"We did."
"You asked for it like a wife gets it." You lift your head and look at her. Her face is blotchy and tear-streaked and glowing. "So I gave it like a husband."
Her eyes fill again. Not the desperate kind of tears this time. She blinks them back and cups your jaw with her free hand, the one still laced with yours on the pillow, and she presses the ring on her finger against your cheek like she's showing it to you.
"Four," she whispers. "Four for me, three for you. The math is almost even."
"Almost. I could fix that in twenty minutes."
"Could you? You can barely hold yourself up." She rolls her hips under you, experimentally, and you both feel you shift inside her, the mess of you sliding, and she shivers. "Careful. You'll start something you can't finish."
"I finish everything I start. That's the whole night you just had."
"Fair." She grins, lazy and soaked and glowing, and she stretches under you, every curve rolling against your chest. "Then stay. Stay inside me. I want to keep it. I want to lie here full of you and wear the rest on my skin until morning."
You slide out slow and she moans at the loss, a soft sound this time, spent, and a trickle of white follows you out. You look down at the mess of her, cum and hers smeared across her thighs, your marks all over her belly and chest, the red print still faint on her ass from round two, the bite she just left on your shoulder.
"Look at you," you say. "Wrecked. Marked from head to toe."
"Mm." She runs her own fingers through the streaks on her stomach, slow, admiring. "This is what I was going to wear to bed all night anyway. The inside part is just a bonus."
You reach for the water glass again and make her drink the rest. Her hand shakes holding it. You take it back and set it down and pull the blanket up over both of you, and she immediately burrows into your chest, her cold feet finding your calves, her wet and aching body settling against yours.
"Thank you," she says into your collarbone, quiet, her fingertips tracing the bite mark she left. "For the whole night. For making me wait. For..." Her hand drifts down to her own belly, resting on the softness there, and she doesn't hide it. Not even a little. "For making me believe you about this."
"You believed it before. You just needed it said out loud until it stuck."
"It stuck." She lifts her head and kisses the underside of your jaw, once, slow. "I'm never hiding under a blanket from you again. You'd just catch me anyway."
"I'd catch you in about nine seconds. I always do."
"I know." She grins against your skin, teeth grazing. "That's the best part."
Her breathing starts to slow, little hitches evening out into something deep and warm. Her hand settles flat on your chest, over your heart, rings cool against your skin. Outside, the moon has moved, the stripes of light on the sheets sliding toward the foot of the bed, and the room finally goes still.
Then her hips shift. Barely. A slow, thinking roll against your thigh, the kind she does when her body is ahead of her mouth.
"Marta."
"Mm?"
"You're not done either. Are you."
"No," she admits, and her voice has that smoke back in it, that dare. "But you're going to have to be the one to do something about it, because I physically cannot move my arms."
You laugh into her hair and slide your hand down her back, over the curve of her ass, and settle it there, holding her. "Then lie there and let me think about it."
"That sounds dangerous."
"It should. Look what happened last time I took my time."